Moonlight Sonata
by falling into you
Summary: [HIATUS]How Draco Malfoy came to be stuck with Ginny Weasley as a ghostlike apparation he couldn't know. But all he can do is accept the situation until he finds a way back to his body. But when he can, will he want to? DracoGinny


Title: Moonlight Sonata 

Author: falling into you

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Draco/Ginny

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. It is all JK Rowling's and various publishers'.

Summary: They were so different. Fire and Ice. Weasley and Malfoy. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Auror and Healer. Good girl and Bad boy. But when Draco Malfoy accidentally angers his girlfriend and she puts a curse on him, the only thing he can do is accept his situation -- stuck with Ginny Weasley as a ghost-like apparition _she _can only see until he finds a way to bring himself back to his slumbering body. But when he can, will he want to? Based on Just Like Heaven featuring Reese Witherspoon and Mark Ruffalo.

Author's Notes: Yes, I do know I was supposed to write _Leaving Paris_, but it just seemed much too hard. I was trying to research everything I could about France, but I every time I wrote something, it seemed much too fake. I even wondered if I could possibly write it in the US, where I know much much more about the scenery, but I couldn't make it into Leaving LA, right? I'm terribly sorry for those who really wanted _Leaving Paris_, but I hope you'll like this next story!

* * *

**Preludes **

_"Anger is a vital life force… it has the power to move worlds." -- Alanis Morissette _

Ginevra Weasley, known to friends and family as Ginny, threw up her hands in exasperation. Hermione ducked to avoid the vase of flowers thrown in her direction, pulled out her wand, and plucked the flying vehicle out of the air and set it gently on the coffee table.

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY" Hermione yelled at the angered redhead. Ginny ignored her, stomping over to a chair and pulling it out so hard it fell to the ground. "YOU HAVE GOT TO CALM DOWN!" she yelled again.

Ginny narrowed her eyes and got that look in her eyes that bode no good for her friend. She pointed at the flowers and said, "He got me _orange lilies_". She spoke the last few words in a hushed, dramatic whisper.

"And that means…?" Hermione trailed off to let Ginny answer her question.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. She snapped, "For someone who was so good at herbology, you sure don't know your plants, don't you?"

Hermione sighed and repeated the mantra she had been repeating over and over since Ginny started throwing a fit nearly half an hour ago: _Ginny is my friend. She is usually not like this. She is simply angry and confused about her love life_. Then she counted to ten and opened her mouth to suggest the slight possibility that herbology did not deal with the symbolic meanings of muggle plants when Ginny began speaking again.

Ginny walked over to the coffee table, running her hand over the glossy surface of the vase, stopping to tug on the white ribbon. "Orange lilies mean 'I hate you'." She sat dejectedly on the sofa, looking at the flowers.

Hermione plopped by her, following Ginny's eyes to the offending flowers. She said gently, "Ginny, honey, I really don't think he thought about what he was sending."

It was the wrong thing to say. Ginny's eyes blazed and she yelled, "EXACTLY! I DON'T WANT A MAN WHO DOESN'T THINK ABOUT EVERYTHING HE DOES!"

Hermione sighed and thought, _there goes her chances of getting a man_, but said instead, "That's what I mean, Gin. He probably just thought, 'Those are some nice flowers. I'll just send them as a token of my appreciation.'"

Ginny was not to be consoled. She sat back down and pouted childishly, pulling her knees to her chest. Tearstained, she looked all at once hurt and dejected, as if someone had left her at the altar.

Hermione remembered a time when Ginny had been sensible. Then she retracted her thoughts, looking at Ginny again. It was rather harsh to say that Ginny was muddle-brained or flighty. She was one of the smartest, kindest, and daring young women in the Wizarding World. She never skirted her job, and gave 110 each time, rivaling Hermione in her work.

But as with all people, she had her faults. And she was hopelessly in love with love.

* * *

Draco Malfoy ran a hand through his hair as he yawned. It had been a busy day, a busy week, a busy month. Always busy. Always working. 

But that was life.

It had been hard at first. There was so much prejudice, so much hatred, so much. And it was difficult to pursue a career so demanding. He had started his studies late, and not only did he have to struggle through his studies, he had to endure the eyes watching him, suspicious eyes, worried eyes, eyes full of hatred.

But it was worth it.

He took off the lime green robes embroidered with the Healer insignia, folding it over the crook of his arm as he walked down the staircases toward the lobby.

A voice called after him. "Mr. Malfoy sir, wait up."

He turned to look over his shoulder at the young trainee breathing heavily as he ran to catch up. "Yes?" he inquired in a cool, emotionless tone.

"You just got an owl, " the young man panted, leaning over and clutching his stomach.

"I finished my rounds – " Draco started, blinking his eyes a couple of times, for he had worked for so long and so hard that he couldn't see straight.

"No, no, no, " he said breathlessly. "It was a Howler." He touched a few wisps of hair at his crown. Even though his hair was dark, Draco could see that they were singed black.

Draco ran through the possibility of anyone sending a Howler to him. True, he wasn't the most liked person, but ever since the War had ended, he had kept a quiet, quite ordinary life, or as ordinary as any pureblood, ex-Death Eater, Malfoy heir could.

Before he could ask whom it was from, he continued. "It was from Pansy Parkinson." Here he winced, as if remembering her shill tones emerging from the letter.

Draco groaned inwardly. He wondered why he continued to date the pug-faced, demanding Pansy Parkinson, if dating was even the word for it. He preferred the quiet life he held, and Pansy certainly did not fit into it, with her loud, shrill voice and mousy hair that was not quite blond and not dark enough to pass as a deep chestnut.

Perhaps it was protection that kept him by her side, or even the sense of comfort in the familiar. Draco knew about his looks; they were far above average. Even women who were scared of him, or rather, of his reputation, whispered to their friends about his fine blond hair, the set of his shoulders, and the long, hard length of his body. And still he stayed with Pansy, with her only passable looks and slightly more passable figure.

It was different during the War. Like everyone, she was frightened and intimidated by Voldemort's power. Nobody was safe during that time, not even the most loyal followers. Draco had seen men and women who had dedicated their lives to Voldemort die in the most ruthless, heartbreaking ways.

He sighed again, too tired to think about such matters. It was a couple of seconds before he realized that the young man was still standing there, waiting for instructions. He motioned for him to keep talking.

"She said that you were late again, sir, " he said, twisting his hands nervously in front of him, as if he half expected Pansy Parkinson herself to appear out of nowhere. _Not an unreasonable thought_, thought Draco as he only half listened to the babbling man. Pansy _would_ come to drag me off to some damned party or another on a work night.

He nodded to the young man. "Yes, yes. Don't worry about it, " he said tiredly. Immediately the young man brightened and thanked Draco repeatedly.

Draco closed his eyes and apparated, wondering what his demanding girlfriend wanted now.

* * *

Standing on the steps in front of her mansion, Pansy Parkinson was clad in an elegant evening gown, but the beauty of the night and of her clothes was offset by the look on her face. She was furious. 

_How many times did I tell Draco of tonight? He _never _listens to me anymore_, she thought angrily, tapping her foot on the pavement, clutching her purse so hard that her knuckles turned white. A sudden fear made a shiver go down her spine, and she looked down the stone steps again, and wondered if her Howler had reached Draco.

Would he be mad? At least he would be mad at her, and she would be the center of his attention, albeit his anger, for a few precious moments. She was willing to go that far. He had been so inattentive lately, she remembered as panic swept over her.

Out of the darkness, seemingly out of nowhere, a rumpled blond hair came toward her. His head was down, and Pansy couldn't see his expression. Her hands shook, and she steadied them, cursing herself and her weakness.

"Draco darling?" she called.

He stood in front of her now, looking over from head to toe. But it was not the same look that he once gave her, the one that made her melt inside, as he had swept his gaze from face to breasts to legs, lingering here and there. The look that had, all too many times, led them back into the bedroom. This was a look that a scientist would give a specimen, simple observation and scrutiny. Something glittered in his eyes, and though it was dark, Pansy couldn't help but wonder if it was dislike at what he saw.

She swept her hair off her bare shoulders and braced herself. "Darling?" she said again, "Didn't you remember the party tonight?"

Draco didn't even look at her as he said, "No." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. Pansy stilled the hands that raised automatically to pat the hair into place, as she had done so many times.

She fixed a smile into place, trying to control her annoyance and anger at his indifference. "There's still time for you to apparate – " she paused for a second, her lip curling as she thought of Draco's bloody small flat near the River Thames, and continued, "home and change, dear."

Draco finally looked her in the eyes, and she was shocked to see blunt anger in them. He rarely showed anything in those eyes, even during their most intimate moments. She took a step back, tilting her chin up. She wouldn't back down, even now.

"Pansy Parkinson, " he began, "I have just worked at least a 48 hour shift and you expect me to go to this damned party with you? Have some sense. I'm going back home and sleeping like the dead."

She placed her hands on her hips. "I told you of this weeks ago. Everyone of our status will be there. What will people say when Draco Lucius Malfoy, one of the most powerful people in the Wizarding World, does not turn up?"

Draco had been walking down the steps when he whirled around and grabbed her arms. She twisted in his painful grasp, knowing instinctively that she would have bruises in the morning. He put his face close to hers, making her gasp. Even when he was angry, he was a sight to see. "Don't say that again, " he spat. "Don't you ever say that again."

He shook her once and let go, storming down into the darkness.

Pansy rubbed her arms. Blind with fury, she threw her expensive purse into some bushes and pulled out her wand, decapitating some statues before retreating back into her mansion to nurse her hurt pride.

"Sleeping like the dead, " she murmured, pacing back and forth on the expensive flooring, "sleeping like the dead?" She smiled, a lionesses predatory grin on her face, her expression ugly and cold. "That can be arranged." She smiled again as she strode toward the library.

* * *

After the War, Draco would never accept his status among the people he had once sided with an fought for. He refused to acknowledge them, the scorned families who had once supported Voldemort, nodding politely and smiling at them when Pansy dragged him to whatever social function was going on, when in truth all he really wanted to do was forget them once and for all. 

The Wizarding World had been merciful to the supporters of Voldemort, more merciful than was prudent. They let them keep their wealth, their titles, and their lands. Their reputation was shattered beyond salvation, they figured, and their lack of unity, leadership, and reason would not allow them to join together.

Most of the supporters had stayed behind their mansion walls, bitter and resentful, but there was really nothing they could do to retaliate. All their power was gone with Voldemort, vanquished almost shamefully by the young Harry Potter, and even young children recognized their names, cowering behind their mothers at the thought of such people.

Only one had tried to make amends, for whatever reasons he had.

Only one, and that was Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Yep, a new story. One that I've been wanting to write, but never found the time. Hope you'll like it. It's going to be a bit darker, but if you've read Match Me, I'm pretty sure not THAT dark. Just, more serious. Deeper, I hope. :)

And about Match Me, I'm so sorry, and I know I've made countless empty promises, but I'm just going to mark it as complete. Thank you to _die Lorely_, johnsocz, **PsYcHiC SeLiNa**, and any others who have seen my author profile and wanted the epilogue toMatch Me. There have been so few requests that I've just kind of lost my muse for that one. Everything seems forced. If more people want it, I'll be happy to finish it, but since I've only recieved about 4 requests, I'm not so sure if it's worth my time -- not that the 4 people are insignificant and I'm a review whore, it's just that I've got Match Me over with, and while it was WONDERFUL to write, the epilogue just REALLY REALLY REALLY seems fake. I might just post it somewhere else. It'scoming, butI'm totally unsatisfied, believe it or not. I might post it on my livejournal, MIGHT. So check around.

_Much love,  
_falling into you


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